


A Drop Of Blood

by The_Quill



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Sibbi Black Briar/ Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-01-03 15:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quill/pseuds/The_Quill
Summary: Death unites all. A powerful personality is dead and it's upto Ingun Black-Briar to stop her family from falling apart, all the while dealing with an unknown foe who threatens to shatter their already crumbling world and bring down one of the most influential families in Skyrim.





	1. Mortal

Disclaimer: My characters are my own and everything else is owned by Bethesda. Same with mods.

Maven Black-Briar was dead.

She lay there, dressed in magnificent robes; the purple in stark contrast with her ashen face. The sunlight coming in from the window shone brilliantly on her delicate visage. Even in death, she looked authoritative. Her tongue stuck out- completely black; a sign of poisoning, the healer had said. Her eyes were closed and as Ingun sat there still as a stone, with tears dried on her face, all she wanted to do now was to look into those deep-brown eyes one last time and tell her mother how much she loved her. She wanted to tell her that despite all her mother had done, she had forgiven her. But it was too late now. Her mother would never be able to hear those words she had desperately wanted to say. Her mother, her lifeline, was gone. Forever.

While Sibbi sat there in the corner by the window in his favorite oakwood chair, Hemming paced the room, carefully measuring his steps. Sibbi was least bothered about things; he had never truly cared about his mother since she had broken his heart. He had tried to forgive her, but in vain. It was against his nature to let go of things. And it was against his nature to defy himself. He always did what he wanted to do, and so he sat in his chair, staring at the beautiful blue mountain flowers in the garden, waving happily in the wind.

"When is the priest coming?" Ingun asked in a low, faultering voice, not moving her eyes away from her mother's face.

"In one hour. He said he'll do the rites at home and then take the body," Hemming replied. He didn't care about the rites or the priest. He just wanted to find the man behind all this. He wanted to find him and wring his neck, not only because he had loved his mother but because he was scared for his life. Someone powerful enough to take down Maven Black-Briar, was surely a threat to him too.

Hemming decided to leave the room and find out about the progress on the investigation. The guard was waiting for him in the living room. An Imperial soldier stood there too.

"So what did you find?" Hemming asked, rubbing his temples.

"Nothing much. Elgrim told us that the poison was a mixture of ectoplasm, troll fat and some spider eggs, with traces of an unknown ingredient. He said he'll contact you when he finds more about the ingredient. We gave him the cup, so he could analyze the poison more carefully," the guard replied.

"Look, I don't care about the poison. What more did you find?"

"We have spoken to almost everyone and nobody saw anything strange except this- Marise Aravel told us that a young man came by her shop a day ago, saying that he was buying food supplies for his mistress, Maven. She told me that she had never seen him before and asked the man whether Maven had fired her old servant, Mathius and hired him instead. He told her Mathius was sick and sent him instead to do his work. The man went around many shops buying stuff and nobody suspected anything. He all told them the same story."

"So they can identify him, right?" Hemming crossed his arms, and looked around the room.

"Yes."

The Imperial soldier added in, "We have posted soldiers at all the entrances to the city, and warned everyone to be on the lookout for a young unknown man."

"Does he have a name?" Hemming asked.

"No, he didn't tell anyone his name," the guard replied with a sigh.

Hemming walked around the room, glancing at the faces around him from time to time, stroking his mustache gently. Not many people interacted with Mathius, since he was always busy, being the head-butler of the house. And he never hired a substitute without informing Maven.

"Tell Mathius to come here in the afternoon, whether he's sick or not. Tell him it's urgent," Hemming ordered the guard.  
The guard obliged and left the room, the sound of his heavy boots on the wooden floor resonating throughout the room. The Imperial Soldier offered his condolences once again and left the room too.

Hemming entered the bedroom. It felt empty even though Ingun and Sibbi were present there. The priest had come a while before, performed the rites quickly, and took the body away. Ingun had wailed so loud that some people in the streets stopped to glance at the big house. Everyone in the town knew about the demise, but not many people cared. Some had come genuinely, some out of respect, but mostly people had come out of fear. Maven was dead, but her son was alive, and he had also gained quite a reputation for himself.

"Ingun, dear, I have to ask you something," Hemming said gently, miserable at her condition. Her face was pale and the big eyes that were always shining, looked dull and lifeless now.

"Yes?" she replied, her round eyes with their long lashes lifting upto him.

"I know this is a bad time, but can you please tell me this- did Mathius hire someone yesterday, to do his work while he was sick?"

She straightened herself and pushed the hair out of her face. "No, no, he did not. Mathius was sick but he told me he got the supplies himself. I had offered to send someone else instead and...he said no, fearing that Mother would get angry at him." Her lips trembled at the remembrance, but she controlled herself.  
Sibbi heard them but he was too engrossed in his own thoughts to make a comment. Hemming sat down beside her, his eyes darting here and there. Nothing made sense. He left the room in a hurry, determined to get the whole truth. He was angry. It was afternoon and Mathius still hadn't come. Hemming decided to confront the old man himself. He picked up his long coat and stomped out of the room.

Although Mathius lived where he worked, he occasionally went down to his house near the Riften fishery. He had explained that he wanted to have some quiet time and do some fishing, and Maven respected that. Even though his quarter at the Black-Briar house was twice bigger than his home, he enjoyed staying at the latter more. Mathius had worked hard to afford his own place. Maven often remarked that he didn't need to buy a home; he was very much welcome at her house, and instead he could've used the money for his marriage and his family. But Mathius had always laughed at the suggestion, saying he was fine being a bachelor, seeing as he already served under one woman, he didn't want another.

The sun was now beginning to set and winds blew strongly around the streets. Hemming carefully walked along the bridge, with his two most trusted guards at his sides. Everyone stared at him, some wondering what in oblivion was he doing outside at this hour when his mother's body was still warm in her grave.

They reached the cottage. It was a quaint little place and it had an old charm about itself. Much like Mathius. Hemming knocked on the door, and waited patiently. No answer. He knocked again, twice, this time harder. Still no answer. He tried the door and it was locked. He ordered his guards to break it down. As he made his way through the splinters and the broken wood, he covered his nose at the putrid smell that seemed to be everywhere in the house. He lit a torch, and what he saw next horrified him. Furniture was smashed everywhere, utensils lying on the ground, and in the bedroom, lay Mathius himself. Dead. His body was badly mutilated, entrails coming out from his abdomen. One of the guards puked in the corner. Hemming wiped his forehead and clutched his stomach to stop from vomiting. He stared into Mathius' eyes. They were frozen in terror. His mouth was agape and his body was twisted as if in pain. Hemming quickly left the house and sent one of his guards to inform the rest.


	2. Family

Disclaimer: My characters are my own and everything else is owned by Bethesda. Same with mods.

Hemming was back at his house, although he barely remembered coming there. He was now sitting in his bedroom where he had called his sister to break upon her the terrible news.

"Mathius is dead?" Ingun clasped her hand over her mouth. She had gone to Master Elgrim two hours ago. She had passed Mathius' place without knowing what lay inside.

"Yes, I found him at his home. To say he died a horrible death would be an understatement," Hemming said and looked out the window, trying to block out the images of Mathius' innards coming out his body. He rubbed his temples. The whole situation was giving him terrible headaches. He watched the night sky, filled with twinkling stars. It was a clear night and the moon shone bright outside, its light illuminating the stony paths below. The cool breeze coming in from the window lightly stroked his face and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He wanted to forget everything and return to his normal life.

Ingun looked at her brother with irritation. She had hated him for acting so distant at the time of their mother's death, and now she hated him for acting as if Mathius was nothing to him- just a dead body.  
The calmness in Hemming's voice had masked the terror in his words and she was not so smart as to discern it.

"Now what?" Ingun finally asked, setting her feelings aside. Her mother had always told her to look out for family and she tried to honor her promise.

"Nothing. I've informed the guards. They have posted men at the entrances. I've also hired some to protect us."

"What about the Jarl?"

"The Jarl has offered to help but I highly doubt that will do us any good. Her best men are fighting on the front lines and the ones that stayed behind to guard the city are the ones who weren't fit enough to go to the war. But I have accepted her help. And the men are trying their best, so the Jarl tells me."

Ingun bit her lips and took a breath. "Do you think that Mathius' death had som-"

"Yes, it did. And I'm gonna find who's behind all this. That person will pay dearly," Hemming spoke through clenched teeth.

"But why? Why would someone do this?" Ingun knew the answer deep inside her heart but she didn't wanna acknowledge it.

"You know why, Ingun. Mother had so many enemies. The kind of busi-"

"It doesn't matter," Sibbi cut in, entering the room. He took a bite of the apple in his hands. "They're done. They killed a rival, that's it."

"Careful, that could be poisoned," Hemming mocked his little brother. He hated Sibbi. The latter's continual debauchery, his laziness and incompetence to work gave the family a bad name. Maven had to send Hemming many times to rescue his idiot brother, much to his displeasure.

"What's your problem?" Sibbi asked.

"You. You were seen fighting at the tavern last night. Care to explain?" Hemming didn't need an explanation. His hands were ready to beat up Sibbi.

"That milk-drinker was disturbing my girl and so I gave him a warning." Sibbi chuckled to himself as he remembered the man's nose bleeding from one punch only.

"_Your _girl?" Hemming raised his eyebrow.

"Well, for the night anyways. Also, I was drunk out of my wits. So, give me a break."

"You are an arse alright. Even Sanguine would bow in front of you." Hemming curled his fists and punched Sibbi's face, who shrieked and he too landed a punch on Hemming. Sibbi hit him on his side. Hemming groaned and using his full body, knocked his opponent on the ground. He was about to choke Sibbi when Ingun caught his hands.

"Wait!" Ingun shouted. "What in the Oblivion are you two doing! I'm scared here. There's someone out there killing us one by one. Mother's dead and so is Mathius. And who knows, _we_ might be next! So you two need to get a grip on yourselves. Quit fighting. If you want to live, I suggest we put aside our differences and work together." She stared at them. "Before it's too late."

Both of them stood up and brushed their clothes. Sibbi washed his face at the sink in the corner, the blood from his nose turning the water red. Hemming took off his boots and sat on the bed. He opened the bedside drawer and took out a small bottle containing a green-coloured solution. It was a pain killer Ingun had given to him three weeks ago. He swallowed it, the taste of crushed petals of blue mountain flowers giving a minty tinge. He liked it and it was better than most of the medicines they sold in the shops.  
Ingun had also given Sibbi a bottle but he was careless most of the time and now he couldn't remember where he had kept it. He bit his lip and quietly ignored the pain.

"You know, I always thought nothing would ever happen to Mother. She was so strong, so fearless, nothing could ever touch her," Ingun said in a low-soft voice. She sounded similar to Maven, but her voice was sweet, like honey and didn't contain the sternness that Maven's bore.  
She handed towels to both of them and sat next to Hemming, eagerly waiting for him to say something. She hated silence. Conversations kept her mind busy and away from her own thoughts- thoughts she was too afraid to encounter.

"She _was_ a human being after all," Hemming stated.

"But it's over now, I think. They killed her. I mean- it's just business. Right?" Sibbi asked nonchalantly.

"No, I don't think it's just business. I thought so too, but after Mathius' death, I'm not so sure. Plus, the nature of the deaths- it all seems personal to me." Hemming stroked his mustache.

"Great. Someone who wants revenge. And we don't know who it is," Sibbi said with a nervous laughter, ignoring the dull pain in his nose.

"No, but we do know some things about him." Ingun stood up and continued, "The poison tells us the person is skilled at alchemy- an expert. Master Elgrim told me he has never seen such a powerful poison before. The person must have been taught at the College of Winterhold. And the freshness and the nature of the ingredients the person used suggests he's been to Windhelm. They're available at the White Phial in Windhelm. I've been there myself a few times," Ingun said. "Master Elgrim sent me on a few errands there. He's great friends with the owner."

"How are you so sure they're from Windhelm only? You can get these ingredients from anywhere in Skyrim," Sibbi asked.

"You're right. They could be available anywhere. But to make a potion that potent- you have to have the purest ingredients. And nobody sells that stuff except the White Phial," she explained.

"So, it's done. I leave for Windhelm tomorrow." Hemming stood up and walked towards his cupboard.

"What? No, I'll go. You don't even know the location. I know everything. The owner, Nurelion, knows me too. I'll go," Ingun insisted.

"No, you won't. It's too dangerous." Hemming stared at her. "I won't lose anyone else."

She looked at him with astonishment. His eyes were filled with terror. She took his hand in hers. "You won't," she comforted him.

"Fine. You can go, but on one condition- Sibbi comes with you too."

"What? No way!" Sibbi cried out.

"Do you have anything better to do?" Hemming scolded him.

"Yes, I-I hav-"

"Then it's settled. You two leave for Windhelm first thing in the morning. Pack your essentials. Off you go." Hemming gently pushed his siblings towards the door.

"Oh, fine. Okay. I'll come with you Ingun. I hear the ladies are prettier there in Windhelm," Sibbi grinned as both of them exited Hemming's room.

"Oh! Will you ever stop?" Ingun slapped the back of Sibbi's head playfully. She headed for her bedroom.

Sibbi smiled and he too went inside his room and prepared to sleep. He thought of packing tomorrow.

Ingun sat on her bed, and stared out the window. She opened her cupboard and carefully took out her dresses and put them in a large golden chest full of beautiful, intricate carvings. It was a gift given to her by Maven on her twenty-third birthday. She touched and felt each carving slowly as she smiled sadly to herself. Before she knew, her eyes welled up, and she quickly laid down on the bed. She tried to sleep, but couldn't. She sat up and cried, promising her soul that this would be the last night she wept for her mother. She stood up and washed her face. She went back to sleep again, this time more angry than sorrowful, vowing to get revenge.


	3. New Place, New Rules

Disclaimer: My characters are my own and everything else is owned by Bethesda. Same with mods.

* * *

"Anything else?" Hemming asked Ingun as he loaded her chest and two knapsacks onto the carriage.

"No, that's all. Sibbi is still packing though," she sighed.

"I knew it. Why do I even expect?" Hemming tiredly rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept a wink last night; the thought of being killed still disturbing his mind. He wasn't a coward, but having seen death so closely, his heart now began to tremble. Although he was skilled at hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting, and had brought down many a opponent with his bare hands only, fear still clutched him. The tactics of his enemy were different and something told him that the enemy wasn't so keen at playing fair.  
Sibbi carefully hauled a large metal trunk, balancing a large knapsack strapped on his right shoulder. He gave Hemming a little push accidentally while putting his belongings in the back of the carriage, and Hemming was transported back from his thoughts.

"Okay, so everything is set. Now, we leave. Goodbye, everyone!" Sibbi gladly sat in the carriage, his thoughts wandering over to wine and women- the only two comforts of his life.

Ingun turned to Hemming with misty eyes. "Take care, brother," she said.

"You too, Ingun. You _have_ taken your dagger with you, yes? I really hope you don't have to use it, but if the time comes, don't hesitate."

"Don't worry, brother. I still remember our lessons."

"Good." Hemming embraced her. "Have a safe journey, sister. May Talos watch over you."

"Goodbye, brother." She sat in the carriage and looked at her brother until he became smaller and smaller, just a passing dot in the landscape.

The journey to Windhelm was a long and dangerous one. They swiftly maneuvered their way across the hills and the forests, avoiding bandits. Many a times, they had ventured too close, but by Talos' grace, no real harm had been done. The villages on the way provided refuge and Sibbi's jokes kept Ingun company, kept her mind from remembering why they were actually on the road. She had been to Windhelm before, but this time the road seemed longer.

It was cold when they arrived there. Ingun put on a fur cloak over her dress and she advised Sibbi the same. The sun was just setting; the blazing red-yellow streaks of fading sunlight adorned the sky. Strong, cool gusts blew about the whole place. Ingun winced and shuddered in the cold as she, Sibbi and the guards walked over to the Candlehearth Hall, the local inn. After settling the horses in the stables, they went in there. Ingun paid for the rooms and they sat down for meals and drinks- the siblings on one table, and the carriage master and the two guards on the next one, a liitle farther away from their employer.

"Get me more, will you darling?" Sibbi raised his goblet, shouting at the woman behind the counter, who shot him an angry look before continuing to clean the table.

"Stop it, Sibbi! You've had enough already!" Ingun said in hushed tones as she pushed his hand down on the table. Everyone looked at them, and she could feel her cheeks getting warmer. She looked down. She didn't like being around so many people.

"Just one more, sister," said Sibbi drowsily, before he slipped out of his chair. He was completely drunk out of his wits. Ingun helped him up and motioned the guards to take him into his room. She sat sighing at the table, wondering why she had ever agreed to take Sibbi with her. She ate her meal slowly, and was just finishing when a nord approached her.

"Hey, pretty! You're Ingun! Ingun Black-Briar, right?" the nord asked, bending towards her; his breath heavy with the stink of mead.

She frowned but politely answered. "Yes, what do you want?" she replied sternly, but her voice reflected her nervousness. The man's large and strong physique was certainly intimidating.

The man stared maliciously at her. "Oh, pretty, I want a lot of things. The question is- are you willing to give it to me?" He touched her hand.

"Stay away from me! Guards!" Ingun shouted at the top of her voice, as she stood up and backed away from the man. He swayed, having difficulty in standing up straight.

"Hey, you! Get away from her!" the bodyguards came running from the room upstairs, and unsheathed their swords.

"Okay, okay! I mean no harm," the man grinned as he put both of his hands up. "I was just offering my condolences for her mother."

"What's going on?" The city guards burst in through the door, having heard commotion inside.

"That man tried to assault me!" Ingun cried out, her heart pounding fast. Tears welled up in her eyes.

They grabbed ahold of him and the man grinned at her. "We're not afraid of you anymore! Maven's dead! Haha! Maven's dead now!" he exclaimed, laughing before the guards exited the inn with him.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" one of the bodyguards asked gently. "You look spooked."

"No-no, I'm fine," Ingun replied as she quickly wiped the tears from the back of her hand. She took deep breaths. "I'm okay."

"Okay."

The bodyguards escorted her to her room, before retreating into their own.

Ingun lay down, her mind a whirlpool of emotion, fear dominating them all. She suddenly remembered her dagger and clutched her pocket on the left side of her dress. She took it out, wondering why it hadn't occurred to her to use it. She put it down and closed her eyes, but the image of the man kept coming in front of her. The whole situation kept replaying in her mind and tears welled up in her eyes. _We're not afraid of you anymore. _The words kept ringing in her ears and an unknown fear clawed at her heart. How quickly the news travelled. She gulped and realised that her heart beat fast again.  
_If only Mother were here_, she thought sadly.

_If only._

Ingun woke up, the sunlight falling on her eyes, sharp as her memory. She pushed aside the events of last night from her mind. Her stomach rumbled from hunger and she quickly got ready and went down to get breakfast. She stopped on the stairs, the area reminding her of the event. She pushed herself forward and gulped, tasting the bile at the back of her throat. She ordered breakfast and ate quickly, her eyes darting here and there. One of the bodyguard sat with her at the table. She left soon, the bodyguard closely behind her. The other one was left to guard Sibbi, who was still sleeping peacefully.

Outside, the birds chirped happily and it was a sunny morning, with a few clouds blocking the sun now and then. Overall, the weather was pleasant, but Ingun was too occupied to enjoy it. She bolted across the winding streets, keeping her head down, her hood covering the most of her face. After getting lost a few times, she finally reached the main marketplace. Shopkeepers boasted of their wares, while people haggled on the top of their lungs. Ingun walked over to The White Phial- a small little shop in one of the corners. She motioned the guard to stand outside, before entering it.  
The familiar setting ignited a bittersweet nostalgia within her heart. She clearly remembered the first time she set foot here. The strange, exotic ingredients and the smell of old books bound in leather always excited her. Everytime she would come, Nurelion had already prepared special mixtures for her to study, at the behest of Elgrim. She would always return with loads of books and new ingredients to learn about and experiment with. And she devoured those books within days, her mind never satiated and hungry for more.  
But it was different this time.

"Hello child! How are you? How's Elgrim?" Nurelion greeted her, with a hearty smile; the wrinkles creasing around his hazel eyes.

"I'm fine, Master Nurelion. He's fine. He sends his regards. How are you?" she said.

"Good, good. How's your mother and your brothers?"

She stared at him, and then looked down. "My mother is no more."

"Oh my!" He stood there shocked. "I-I'm sorry, child. I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"Here." He led her into the room upstairs. "Sit down, child," he said, offering her a chair. She sat down. He directed his apprentice to take charge downstairs for a while and the scrawny lad grudgingly obliged.

"I see you've got a new one." Ingun said, pointing towards the alembic kept in the corner.

"Ah, yes. I assembled it myself. I bought the base design and and added some new parts. Now it works twice faster than the original," he assured. "Although my stupid assistant still has trouble operating it."

Ingun sighed. She would have gladly discussed the alembic and its working some other day, but this wasn't a good time. She looked at him.

"I-I'm sorry, child. You're not here to discuss the alembic. I-I...uh..got carried away," Nurelion apologized for his insensitiveness. "Why _are_ you here?"

"Listen to me carefully, Master. My life is in danger. My whole family is in danger. You see, my mother...she was poisoned. The poison was very powerful and skillfully crafted. Master Elgrim discovered the ingredients used in it: ectoplasm, troll fat, spider eggs and some other unknown ingredient he wasn't quite able to discern." She leaned in. "Has anyone bought these things from you in the past few days?"

"I don't think so, child. Let me check the registry." Nurelion got up and went downstairs. He returned after a short while, a thick red ledger tucked by his side. "Let's see, hmm...mmmm...here." He ran his hand over the page. "This here starts from a week ago." He handed the ledger to her. Ingun scanned the whole page, using the ingredients as keywords. She flipped the pages.

"I couldn't find anything useful, Master. Nothing is making sense. No one bought these ingredients. I don't know what to do," she said, her voice wobbly.

"Don't fret, dear. Let me see." Nurelion went over the pages again and again and he suddenly stopped, looking Ingun dead in the eye, as if a revelation had descended upon him. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"The person might have bought these ingredients at different times, and he must have assembled them before the poisoning. He might have sent men to buy these ingredients for him. But on different occasions. To avoid suspicion. If you say this man is skilled at making potions, he is no fool then. Tell me one thing- did Elgrim tell you the activity of the poison?"

"The what?"

"The 'activity' or 'active life' refers to the time period upto which the potion remains effective. After the active life is over, the potion is rendered ineffective. Didn't Elgrim tell you about this?"

"He might have. I think...uhhh..yes! Yes! He did say something about it. I think...two weeks, yes two weeks is the active life of that poison."

"When was your mother poisoned?"

"On the 19th."

Nurelion pointed at one of the entries. "Look, this man bought some ectoplasm on the 4th of Evening Star. That's two weeks' gap. And this woman here-" he pointed to another entry, "-she bought some troll fat on the 6th."

"Along with some snowberries and lavender," Ingun added.

Nurelion winced. "Let's ignore that. And-" he flipped a page and found another one, "-this man here bought some spider eggs on the 10th."

They both looked at each other.

"This is a long shot," Ingun commented after a while. She sighed.

"I know it is. But it's the only one you've got." He scribbled the names on a page and gave it to Ingun. "Best of luck, child. May the Nines watch over you."

Ingun bid farewell and with a hope renewed in her heart, she left the shop.


	4. Alone

Ingun reached the tavern and went straight to her room. It was a cool afternoon, with winds blowing now and then. She ordered a bowl of hot vegetable soup and ate it slowly. She glanced at the paper on the table, the one Nurelion had given her. Two of them- a man and a woman, lived in Dawnstar and the third man was from Winterhold. She grew weary at the thought of so much travelling. She pushed aside the thought and tried to enjoy the soup.

Sibbi entered her room. He was sober and had changed his clothes.

"Where were you?" he narrowed his eyes. "I went to find you, and here you are, sipping soup."

"Unlike you, I'm actually concerned with finding the killer," she implied, setting the bowl down with a thud, spilling some on the table.

"So, _detective, _what did you find?" He sat down beside her on the bed.

She told him all about her visit to Nurelion and handed him the paper, once she was finished talking.

"Wow, this Nurelion guy, he sure is a smart cookie!" Sibbi nodded. "This could work."

"Yes, it could," she sighed and looked down.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She stared at him. "I, I-umm..no, no...it's nothing."

"Ingun, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." She stood up and looked out the window.

"Alright. Then tell me why are you sweating so much."

She ran her hand across her forehead, her fingers wet with drops of sweat, glistening in the sunlight. "Sibbi, they're not afraid of us, not anymore."

"What? Afraid? Who? What're you talking about?"

"Last night, a man approached me and he..he tried to assault me," she gulped.

"That bastard! I'll wring his neck!" Sibbi rose, breathing heavily, his face reddening.

"No, Sibbi, please! Listen to me! The guards already took him away. There's nothing more you can do." She pressed his arm. "Anyways, that's not the point. The man told me that he's not afraid of us anymore, because Mav-...Mother's dead. No one is. He seemed...pleased." She winced as she remembered his face, and how close he had stood before her.

"Oh, I'll show him what being afraid is!" Sibbi stomped towards the door.

"What are you gonna do? You don't even know him! Stop it. Listen to me. We have to be very careful now. The killer is still out there." She walked towards him slowly. "Now, we have what we need. We will make preparations to leave." She caught ahold of his arm and pulled him towards herself, clutching his arm tightly. His face was red with white hot-rage, and she had never seen him so angry before. "Sibbi, look at me! You don't have to do this."

"No, sister, that man has to be punished! He dare he assault you! I'll show him!" he spoke through clenched teeth.

"What? And you think beating him will do ? I saw his face, Sibbi. He did it to just scare me. He was completely drunk." She set him loose. "Just like you were."

Sibbi grimaced and slumped his shoulders. "What?"

"You know exactly _what. _If you hadn't drunk so much, this wouldn't have happened!" She glared at him.

"You don't know that," he said quietly.

"Oh, please! That's so you, Sibbi! Always making excuses and never taking responsibility for anything. I don't know why I bother." She stepped back. "You know what? Hemming was right. You _are_ an arse. You came because...because- what was it that you said? Ah, '_the ladies are prettier here in Windhelm_.' That's all there is to you." She put her golden chest and her knapsack on the bed and gathering her dresses from the almirah, began packing; her back towards her brother.

"Hemming's right. He's always right, isn't he?" Sibbi mumbled, wiping an escaped tear with his sleeve. "Then you should ask him about Aveana Klindel." He opened the door. "And you're wrong. I do care, sometimes. Atleast, there was a time when I did." Saying this, he left the room. Ingun stopped, trying to recognise the name and glanced at the closed door. Taking a deep breath, she resumed her packing, determined to get to Winterhold.

The next morning saw her leaving for Winterhold. Sibbi stayed behind. She didn't insist, and was somewhat relieved that he wasn't accompanying her. She boarded a different carriage, this one less conspicuous. The carriage master and the bodyguards stayed behind with Sibbi.  
Ingun didn't write to Hemming about the new developments she had come across. She would write to him when she had actually found something. She left by noon after gathering essentials.

She reached her destination the next day at noon. Winterhold was fairly unknown. A small, desolate town, freezing at all times of the year, with nothing but snow-clad paths and rundown houses to display.

Ingun left her belongings at the tavern, and rambled on the streets. Shuddering in the cold, and hugging her clothes tightly around her body, she walked slowly, taking in the bleak sights. The lifeless look on the faces around her aroused a strange, new curiosity in her and she wondered how the people here led their lives. This curiosity rose as she stared at the towering College of Winterhold, a building once famous for its erudition and magical authority known throughout Tamriel, but now, a dismal reflection of its past glory.

The thought of taking admission here had never crossed her mind, for she had been taught by Master Nurelion from the beginning. But now it did. She considered the idea, smiling to herself. It wasn't a bad one. She played with the thought until she was reminded of her real purpose of coming here. Her smile turned to a sigh and she sought out a guard. She spotted one standing at the barracks nearby, talking to another one. She approached them with hesitation.

"Excuse me, can you help me?"

The faint voice was enough for the guard to be alerted. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for someone. His name is Arvayan Nelobar. Do you know where I can find him?"

The guards exchanged worried looks. "You're sure you're looking for the right person?" one of them asked.

"Umm...yes."

"What business do you have with this person?" The guard narrowed his eyes.

"And I should tell you because..."

"Because we're the protectors of this town and it's our job to keep people safe. Now tell us- why are you seeking out this person?"

"Well, he..uhh-" _I really haven't thought this through_, "-he had an alembic of mine. I want it back." Ingun bit her lips. _An alembic, seriously? _She hoped the lie would work.

"An alembic, you say, huh? Well, I wonder what would a blacksmith do with an alembic."

_Oh no! Mara hel-_

"Citizen, we are going to have to take you to the prison for interrogation."

Ingun watched in horror as the guards took out their spears while she stood there, still as a statue.

"What! What's happening? What did I do?" she cried aloud.

"The person you're looking for was murdered three days ago. We'll have to take you in for questioning."

_Murdered._

The word sent shivers down her spine. She felt as if the world was collapsing around her. She could neither feel the cold nor the noise around her, as people watched her being taken to the guard barracks. The fear made her body go numb and it was with great difficulty she moved her legs. And within moments, she was inside the prison. It smelled like blood and sweat everywhere; she winced, as she made her way through the small cells to the end of the corridor, the prisoners watching her with intent, greedy eyes. Her mind a whirlpool of emotions, she could hardly pay attention to the surroundings.  
A bigger room awaited her. She entered, breathing heavily, the guard behind her. She could feel the bile rising at the back of her throat and she swallowed hard. Two chairs and a table were set in the centre of the room, the chairs opposite to each other. The guard closed the door, and motioned towards a chair.

"Take a seat."

Ingun sat quietly, the wood creaking underneath her weight. She stared at the guard, whose heavy-set body seemed intimidating and she felt the room close in on her.

"So, tell me," the guard sat down opposite to her. "Why are you _really_ looking for this person?"

"I-I..uhh told you before. He has...had my alembic." Ingun pressed her hands together tightly, the nails digging deep into her flesh.

"Hmm...and what did he want an alembic for?"

"Look, I don't know. I really don't know."

"Alright." The guard leaned in closer. Uncomfortably closer. Ingun shifted in her seat. He stared at her, his big brown eyes searching for answers. "Are you a blood relative?"

"No, I'm not. I don't even know him. All I know is he borrowed an alembic at the White Phial in Windhelm and the owner sent me to get it back," she chided.

"But you said it was yours."

"It is, technically. I lent it to the owner." Ingun looked down. She had no idea how the words were leaving her lips but so far the guard looked convinced. Maybe this could work.

"What's your name?" the guard asked abruptly, feeling foolish that he hadn't asked this before.

"I'm Ingun Black-Briar," she declared proudly.

"Sure. And _I'm_ Ulfric Stormcloak." The two guards outside the room laughed.

"No, really, I _am_!" Ingun insisted.

But who could blame the guard? She had ditched her bodyguard in Windhelm, and her fancy clothes too, so that she might look inconspicuous. Her peasant clothes didn't exactly match with the personality she was claiming to be. She now deeply regretted both decisions.

The guard stood up and dragged her inside one of the prison cells.

"No, I'm telling the truth! Please! Listen to me, please! I'm Ingun Black-Briar! You have to believe me!" She screamed from behind the bars, her knuckles turning white from clutching the iron bars tightly.

"Stop screaming, you liar! Now shut up, before I make you!" the guard moved closer to the bars, a shining silver dagger in his hands.

"Please, I beg you," she sobbed.

But the guard's heart was as rigid as the stone-set ice that enveloped Skyrim. He turned away, showing no signs of emollience.

Ingun staggered behind, tears welling around in the corner of her eyes. She huddled in a corner, clinging to her torn fur robe, the cool stone floor hard beneath her. Tears streamed down her face. She felt cold. Cold with sorrow. Cold with loneliness.

Cold with fear.


	5. Choices

Hemming took the letter from the courier and sat down. He opened it casually:

_Mr. Hemming Black-Briar,_

_It is to inform you that your sister, Ingun Black-Briar has been arrested for obstructing investigation of a case and providing false information. The accused has asked for bail and it has been granted under the permission of the Jarl. The payment for her bail will be the sum total of two thousand septims. Your presence is requested at the Jarl's Palace, on the twenty-fifth of Heartfire, at 11 o' clock._

_The Steward,_

_The Jarl's Palace,_

_Winterhold. _

He looked at the letter again and again, the faint sunlight illuminating the parchment. He kept reading the words but understood none of it. He stroked his mustache, perplexed. 

_Ingun had left for Windhelm. How had she ended up in Winterhold then, and that too in a prison?_

Nothing was making sense. He got up from his chair. He was just beginning to go into his room, when the guard came in the living room. 

"Sir, there is a man here to meet you."

"Tell him to come again some other time. I'm busy right now."

"But, sir, he says it's urgent."

A sigh. "Okay, let him in."

The guard hurried out to bring the gentleman in. Minutes later, a tall man, the same height as Hemming, walked in the door casually. His steps were equally paced; the brown, light, leather boots silently creaking on the wooden floor. He not so much walked but danced, his built slender, but his personality commanding, nonetheless. 

"Mercer." Hemming glanced at him from his chair. He carefully set the letter aside on the table. His hand felt light after setting it on the table, as if the words written inside were heavy as stones. He breathed in. "What brings you here today?" he asked in his professional tone.

"Business, as usual. I had an important meeting with the client today. He wants to have a word with you personally." Mercer's voice was as light as his figure, but his words carried weight. He slid comfortably in the cushioned chair, opposite to Hemming.

"I'm sorry, I thought I had put all his doubts to rest." Hemming eyed the letter before continuing. "You see, I'm a really busy man. I don't have time for personal meetings. That's what you people are for." 

He was tired of dealing with The Thieves' Guild. They always barged in with their petty issues and irritating customers. Sure, they had had a good run with the Black-Briars, having helped them a lot, but now, they were becoming nothing short of a sore pus. The members were a trained breed, but a significant amount of money went into their upkeep, and the returns were not so satisfying. The guild had run into a bit of a bad luck lately. Personally, Hemming hated having ties with them. They were just glorified pickpockets and nothing more. But business was business, after all. Even if it meant having to entertain necessary evils in one's living room.

"Listen, Hemming, I know you're still upset about Maven's death and all, but you can't keep ignoring clients like these. Not after the last two cases." Mercer sighed and rubbed his temples. "Mr. Dremlin is a wealthy man, and powerful too. We can certainly benefit from his influence. And he's paying us a lot of money to shut down the brewery just near the fishery."

"Remind me again, why does he want that brewery closed?"

"Has a beef with the owner. Something like that. I really don't know. All that matters is that the owner suffers. How? He's left that portion to us."

"That brewery's one of our main warehouses. I signed a contract with the owner and gave her my word. And," Hemming leaned closer. "I never go back on my word." 

"But he's offering us ten thousand septims for the job. This could really be a big opportunity." The guild's leader narrowed his eyes.

"Ten thousand? Just a beef, huh? This all seems pretty personal to me." Hemming stroked his mustache. "What would be required of us?"

"He wants to meet you in person and be assured of the mission's success."

"Oh, and the guild failed to do that?" Hemming smirked.

Mercer frowned. "It's because he heard about that mess in Whiterun. The Grey-Manes can't keep their mouth shut. Anyways, we tried convincing him, but he wouldn't listen. Only you can do that," he chided, pointing his finger. 

Hemming stood up and paced the room, his whole body tense. "What if I said no?"

"You piece o- how do I make you understand! You can't just keep ignoring work like this! We're already going through a rough patch. Don't pretend you don't know about that. You insulted that mage from Cyrodiil last time and the guild had to pay the price for that!" Mercer spoke through clenched teeth. "We can't keep covering for you. You have got to bear your own weight." The veins on his face had become prominent. He felt heat rising in his body. He was sick of Hemming's attitude. 

As much as Hemming hated the guild, he knew Mercer was right. He couldn't neglect his affairs like that. Maven wouldn't want that. He was responsible for everything now. The food, the clothes, the roof over their heads- he had to take care of every little thing. Sibbi was useless and Ingun wasn't making any gold. And he needed money. Badly.

"Alright. When's the meeting?" Hemming finally asked, giving in, the tiredness in his voice reflected.

Mercer felt a little relieved. It was a difficult task to convince the Briars to do anything, stubborn as they were. But everyone had a chink in their armor. Fortunately, he knew Hemming's. 

"Tomorrow," he replied.

"What? But I have another matter to attend to!"

"For now, just focus on this. Leave everything else aside. It's been a long time since we had an opportunity like this. And with Maven being gone now, we don't get much game."

Hemming nodded. Their enemies had certainly gained an upper hand with Maven's death. "Speaking of game, how's the Honningbrew brewery doing?"

Mercer stood up and smiled mischievously. "Oh, they've been taken care of. The new recruit handled the job quite well." He walked towards the door, his shoulders broad. "Don't be late," he said before leaving. 

Hemming glanced at the letter. It was the twenty-first of Heartfire today. Even if he rode at full speed, the trip to Winterhold would take at least four days. There was the meeting tomorrow. He would have to choose.

It wasn't difficult for him.

He quickly scribbled something on a paper and ordered the guard to give it to the courier.

* * *

Ingun clutched her rumbling stomach. The food on the plate kept in front of her was not at all appealing. It didn't even look edible. A tangled mass of vegetables, some barely cooked. The smell was even more disgusting. She slowly took one bite and chewed it, her face contorted.

"Blech! Yuck! Oh, Mara!" She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "What in the oblivion is that!" 

"Gourmet level dish, isn't it?" A voice chuckled from out of nowhere. "Who is this?" She glanced about the room, the walls covered in moss. 

"Come to the front, and look to your left." 

Ingun did as she was told. She peered out from the bars, and shifted her head uneasily. 

A man. Bright blue eyes shaped like slits, a close set mouth with thin lips, slender nose, with hair as black as charcoal. Young and handsome.

She stared at him. "Who are you?" 

"Vince," pat came the reply. "Vince Severath. And you?"

Instinct told her to keep her mouth shut, but she ignored it. She was already in a prison. Things couldn't get worse than that.

"Ingun," she said in a low tone.

"Why are you here?" She couldn't contain her curiosity. And it had been days since she had someone to communicate with.

"Ah, just taking a stroll in here. Never seen a prison like this before. And I've seen many." He nodded slightly. "A hobby of mine, actually."

He's completely mad, she thought, retreating into a corner. 

"Pickpocketing," Vince said after a while. "I'm in for pickpocketing."

"Oh," was all she could say. She felt foolish for expecting something else. They were in a prison, after all. Full of criminals. She winced. Apparently, she was one too.

"So, it's pretty boring here, huh? The one in Windhelm is so much more entertaining. They torture the people there, and it's fun to see that. But the screaming doesn't sound pleasant after a while."

The word 'Windhelm' roused something in her. Sibbi. I wonder if he's alright. 

She then remembered their fight. She shook her head. No more thinking about it. But one thing still stuck in her mind. 

_Who was Aveana Klindel? _

She would have to ask Hemming when he came.

_If only he would come._

Seeing Ingun ignore him like that, Vince sighed. Usually, everyone was interested in what he was saying. More importantly, interested in his looks.

He grinned. _Finally, a worthy challenge._

This mission would take a little longer than he had thought.


	6. Escape

The cell mates sat near the bars, occasionally peering through them.

“So, pet, where is this brother of yours who was supposed to come?” Vince asked, casually patting his leg, his knees bent. “Hey, here, eat this. This one’s umm….let’s say it’s edible.” He pushed his plate towards her.

She grudgingly took it, seeing it half-wiped clean, and swallowed the greenish mass of vegetables.

“Tastes funny. Would you stop with this nickname you gave me!” She winced. “And to answer your question, yes, he was. The guard told me the letter must have reached him by now. Maybe he’s on the way. The weather may have been rough, I don't know. Oh, Vince, why won't he come!” Ingun put her head in her hands. The waiting. The goddamned waiting was too much. 

“So, tell me, pet, what do you do?” 

_Gods, again with that name._

She looked up. “I…I am an alchemist, but just an apprentice. I'm still learning. And I'm not a pet.”

Vince stood up and leaned through the bars. The nearest guard was sleeping on a chair far away. No one else was in sight. 

He whispered to Ingun. “Okay. Come here, pet. Alchemy 101. What do you get when you combine crushed deathbell flowers with imp stool coupled with two-three spider eggs thrown in there?”

She put her forehead against the bar, closing her eyes, feeling the coldness of metal on her skin.

“Umm…deathbell, the flowers have health damaging properties which specifically targets the nervous system, spider eggs damage magicka regeneration, and imp stool, they…they…”   
She lightly banged her head in frustration. Mushrooms were not her strongest subject.

“They, I think, I'm not sure, but they don't let wounds heal easily after an injury, in other terms, lingering health damage. So, when you combine all these, you get…”

The realisation sent a shudder through her.

_Poison_. 

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen poisons before, stacked on the wooden shelves of Elgrim's Elixirs. But she had pretended to ignore them, pretended to ignore the insidious side of alchemy. 

More so, after her mother’s death.

“Poison,” she murmured and glanced at Vince who was grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re right.” He shot her a look, his eyes brimming with excitement, taking out a vial with a mud-coloured liquid in it. “I'm going to get you out, pet.”

It all happened so quickly, she had no time to process it. The shouting out to the guard, Vince feigning illness, tricking the unsuspecting man into opening the cell, and finally after a long scuffle, the guard lying unconscious, his limbs twitching from the after effects of the poison.

“Will he be alright?” Ingun asked, eyeing the body, creases donning her forehead, as he picked her lock.

“Yes! Yes! There's no time to waste! Now hurry!” He grabbed her hand and they ran across the cell, guards pursuing them from behind. And more in front of them.

Ingun gasped as the guards unsheathed their swords, but she didn’t notice her companion taking out yet another potion from his pocket. He smashed it on the ground, sparks of red-hot fire flashing in his hand. He smiled.

“Hey, you, wai-“

Smoke and fire engulfed the stone floor, flames rising higher and higher. Coughing all over the place, he pushed on, the smoke providing them cover. 

Ingun coughed hard, stepping carefully over the bodies Vince left behind. She was too engrossed in keeping herself from coughing her lungs out to figure out how he was doing it. 

But one thing struck her mind, even in this chaos. 

_How are we not getting burnt?_

She would have to ask him. Once they got out.

They reached the main door. Bursting out of the barracks, gasping and panting, they both breathed in fresh air, taking long breaths, the chilling wind hurting their nostrils.

Before she could say something, Vince pointed to his steed, its shining black coat in stark contrast with the white background. He ran towards him, while Ingun stood there, her heart racing.

“Com'on! What are you waiting for?” he shouted.

She bolted, and he helped her mount the horse.

“Vince, why are you doing this?” she asked, her eyes still adjusting to the surroundings.

He smiled, the reflection of snow making his blue eyes shine bright. “Just helping out a damsel in distress, that’s all, pet. Forward, Sven!”

The horse neighed and galloped at full speed, ecstatic at his master’s return while a confused crowd watched them flee; the angry guards' shouting drowning in the roaring wind. 

The head guard was swearing on the top of his lungs when a courier hesitatingly approached him.

“Sir, I hav-“

“What is it now!” the guard growled, snatching the parchment roll from the courier, who backed away slowly and set off on his next destination.

He hastily opened the letter and read it, the corner of his mouth curling upwards as he finished.

He called out to his colleague. “Alert all the guards that a female fugitive by the name of Ingun Black-Briar has escaped from our custody. She's also traveling with a dangerous accomplice. Tell everyone to be careful around him. Go now! Hurry!”

The other guard did as told, darting towards the barracks.

* * *

The horse neighed and settled down. Vince stroked him, and the creature moved his head in acknowledgment. 

The forest was dense around them. It would provide perfect cover. 

“Umm…Vince, can I ask you something?” Ingun said, as they huddled beneath a large tree. She threw the bundle of twigs she'd collected, on the ground, Vince assembling them.

“Yes, pet, what is it?” He flicked his fingers and in a moment, the sparks lit the dried wood and twigs, the fire burning red. She watched it, the cackling noise resounding in the woods.

“How did we not get burnt? In the prison?”

“Oh, that. It's simple. A concoction of Fly Amanita, fire salts and garlic.”

“But I didn't drink any potio-“

_Oh._

“The vegetables.”

“Very clever, pet.”

“Are you an alchemist too?” She stretched out her hands to warm them. The sun was setting, light getting dimmer by each passing moment.

“I learn what I can, if it helps me.”

“What do you do? You said you….”  
She scratched the back of her neck as she remembered.

“I'm a thief. But not just any, pet. I'm a member of the Thieves’ Guild,” he declared proudly.

She kept silent, not knowing what to say. It wasn't exactly a noble profession.

She stared at him. “Why did you save me? And don't give me that ‘damsel in distress’ nonsense.”

“The Thieves' guild has always been in close association with the Black-Briars. In other words, our families know each other. And so, you see, I was helping a family member.” He smiled.

She smiled back, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her brother was always describing Vince's family as a pain in the ass. And here, she was, having escaped with such a person only. 

_Hemming!_

She flung her hands, and stood up. “But, my brother, he…he…if he will come, what would I say to him? He was coming to bail me.”

“Only this- you were getting tired of eating rotten food in that beautiful place there.” He laughed.

“Is this some kind of a joke to you?” She crossed her arms.

He sighed. “Sit down, pet, and stop shouting, unless you want to attract attention. Or worse, wolves.”

She sat down abruptly. Wolves were definitely the worst. 

“When will we leave?” she asked.

“In the morning.”

She peered at him, his dark spiky hair, falling on the side of his face, as he stoked the fire; the light from it illuminating his face, softening his hard features. 

_He certainly doesn’t look like a thief._

“Enjoying much, pet?” he smirked, not moving his head.

She felt her body stiffening, just now realising she was staring right at him. “No..I-I…yes..I mean no! No! I was just looking at the fire!” She bit her lip hard, so much she could taste the copper.

“I was asking about the fire only.” He whispered. He turned to look at her. “You’re bleeding, pet. From your lip.”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine, it’s nothin-“

He swished his hand, sparks of orange flying from the tips of his fingers to her lips.

“There, pet. It won’t hurt now.” 

Eyes widened, Ingun was completely dumbfounded. She touched her lips, and sure enough, the cut was gone.

“You know restoration magic too!” Her voice a squeal in excitement.

“I told you, pet, I learn what I have to.”

Silence ensued. The distant howling of the wolves and an occasional hooting of an owl were the only sounds they heard, apart from the cackling noise of fire as the twigs continued to burn, toppling on one another.  
They sat there, sleep evading both.

“Why did you join the guild, if I may ask?” Ingun, bored, decided to start a conversation.

“Caught my fancy, I suppose, pet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When you’re an orphan, scavenging for food on the streets, there is a certain skill set you develop. And only the guild took pride in such skills.”

“Where are you from?”

“I don't know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I said, I don't know.” He glared at her. 

She decided not to pursue the topic, seeing how he tightened his jaw, narrowed his eyes.

“Alright, just one more thing. Who taught you alchemy and magic?”

“I taught myself, reading books borrowed from others,” he said abruptly.

She resigned from talking further. Curiousity engulfed her mind but the look on Vince's face stopped her.

He stood up. “I have to go. Got an errand to run. Will be back shortly, pet.”

“Wh..what, wait! Here, in the middle of woods! Hey, wait! I'm coming with you. I won't sit here, waiting to be eaten by wolves and Gods know what ot-“

“It won’t take me much time. Stay here, pet. And take this-“ he pulled out an encased dagger from his pocket, “-to protect yourself.”

She stared at him; her eyes begging him to stay, and then looked down. “Well...hurry up, okay?”

He ran off into the woods. 

He soon reached a rundown cottage, and knocked twice on the door, and then pausing for exactly three seconds, knocked once again. The door creaked open, revealing an old man, standing in front of Vince.

His face, completely shrouded by darkness, his deep, orotund voice, muffled under the cowl, as he spoke, “Passcode?”

“The Queen awaits,” Vince whispered.

“Report?”

Vince smirked. “The bird has eaten the seed.”

“Good, my child.”

The man smiled underneath his hood, handing out a purse full of gold coins, making a clinking sound as it hit Vince's palm, who then sped off in the direction of a scared Ingun.


	7. Unexpected Visitors

His head spinning around, Sibbi staggered towards the door, making his way through drunken angry men, shouting and singing loudly, while the innkeeper tried to settle everyone.

He went outside, breathing hard, the frosty winds hurting his nostril, but clearing his head. 

A figure stood there in the dark, her hair flying furiously, the winds roaring loudly, beating hard against her body, as if trying to snatch her clothes. She stood there, looking at him. He could barely make out her face, yet somehow he knew who she was.

She stretched out her hand towards him. He continued to stumble towards her, but no matter how fast or how far he walked, the distance between them never decreased. 

Finally, after what seemed like centuries of chasing her, Sibbi stopped to grasp his breath, stooping from exhaustion, panting and sweating, even in the cold weather.

“Aveana! Avi!” he cried out to her, with all the force left in his body.

He ran towards her, but still she was nowhere within his reach. 

He sobbed, the tears warm against his skin. “Avi? Is that you? Aveana! Come to me!”

The woman smiled faintly at him, her pale ashen face like the moon on a dark night. To his horror, she started walking away. Before he could say anything, she vanished, leaving behind nothing but dust.

“No! No! No, no, no! Avi, please don’t go!” he screamed, but to no avail.

She was gone.

He dropped on the hard ground and cried, his body hurting all over. He clutched his head, and screamed.

And then he woke up.

Tears streaming down his face, he woke up to a chilly winter morning, the faint sunlight peeking through the gaps in the curtain. He wiped his tears absent-mindedly, still reeling from the effects of what he had just dreamed.

“Aveana,” he whispered, the name rousing bittersweet memories.

He shook his head, and adjusted his pillow, wet and blotched with tears. Pushing himself with great effort, he went inside the washroom.

Pathetic. Miserable. These were the words that came into his mind, when he saw the face in the mirror, staring back at him. He turned on the tap, splashing water on his face, till he was completely awake.

“No, I'm fine. I'm fine,” he said, assuring himself._ I'm fine._

He got out of the washroom and put on his best clothes. He went downstairs and ordered some breakfast as he sat on a stool.

  
The innkeeper winced at him. This customer wasn’t exactly friendly, but he had no choice. He had to serve him. For money. The innkeeper, an old man, sighed and went inside the kitchen to place the order.

Two guards walked inside. They sat on the stools near Sibbi and carried on their conversation after ordering two mugs of ale, completely ignoring everyone.

“Hey, you know, I recently heard that Ingun Black-Briar has broken out of a prison in Winterhold. They say she’s traveling with an accomplice, someone from that damned College,” one of them casually said.

“Well, the guards there are really lousy, so it’s no big deal and the-wait….the ‘Ingun Black-Briar'? Are you sure? Maven Black-Briar's daughter! From Riften!” the other guard squealed in excitement.

“Yes, yes, that one.” The first one gulped down a big sip of the ale set in front of him. He sighed. “We have been asked to be on our guard, in case they pass through here.

“You know, I think these rich, entitled kids always turn out to be spoilt brats. Her mother’s death was less than a month ago, and she’s already on the run from the law. And that too, with a man! I wonder if it’s something else,” the second one smirked and drank his ale.

Sibbi gritted his teeth and tightened his fists, as he finished his breakfast.

_Oh, I'll wring their necks! Damned bastards! No, not right now. Ingun's in trouble. And who is this man they keep talking about? I have to get to Ingun. Fast._

With all these thoughts in his mind, he paid the innkeeper for his services and dashed out the door, much to the relief of the old man.

Outside, his own bodyguards were standing near the stables. He quickly ordered them to get the horses ready. “Prepare to leave,” he barked at them.

“But where to, sir, if I may ask?” one of them asked, as he untied the reins of his horse.

“Winterhold! Now, com'on, get ready!” 

They obliged, hurriedly packing their belongings. And in less than an hour, they set out for the bleak rundown town.

* * *

Ingun and Vince rode through the forest and arrived on the road, strewn with leaves and mud; the big, familiar wooden gates, standing in the distance.

“Finally, we're home! Oh, thank you, Vince!” She cried out in happiness.

“Well, don’t thank me yet. We're still wanted, pet, remember?” he said, getting down from his horse.

“What if the guards recognise us?” 

“Keep your head down, and mouth shut. I'll do the talking, pet. Just follow me.”

They walked on, heads under hoods, the horse trotting close behind them, its reins wrapped tightly in Vince's hands. Ingun could feel the nervous energy ebbing inside of her and struggled to stay calm.

Although they had travelled across forests to get to Riften and often avoided towns, with only Vince visiting the latter to get supplies, there were times when they had come across men of law. Vince had handled them excellently, while Ingun had stood there nervously, praying to Mara and hoping no one would recognise her.

And no one did.

She was praying again now, until they arrived close to the gates.

“Halt!” The guard shouted. “What business brings you to Riften?”

Vince removed his hood. “We’ve recently bought property here and decided to move in. We had just gone to Whiterun to get some supplies for our new home,” he said, his tone higher than his usual deep voice. 

“What are your names?”

Ingun gulped. 

“Drevin and Fane Arabelle,” Vince replied casually. 

“Why doesn’t she speak?” the other guard asked, narrowing his big eyes at Ingun, who shrank beneath the hood.

Vince pulled her close in an embrace. “My wife’s a little shy,” he replied meekly, his high-pitched tone amusing to Ingun.

“You two married?”

“Oh, yes. Newlyweds,” he chuckled and scratched the back of his head. 

“Well, congratulations.” The guard pulled the lever down and the sound of metal bars cranking filled the air. “You may pass,” he smiled.

The gates opened and as soon as they went inside the town, Ingun gave a sigh of relief.  
“Newlyweds, huh?” She eyed him. “I'm impressed with your acting skills.”

“Well, pet, seeing as how you went completely silent, I had to improvise.”

She winced. “It's okay. You can let go now.” She pushed his arm away, but he didn't budge.

“No. The guards are still looking. The gate hasn’t completely closed. If we don't want to draw attention to ourselves, we might have to keep up the act. Just until we get to the Ratway, pet.” 

“Ratway? But my-“

“You're wanted, pet. And your house is in the same neighbourhood as the Jarl's. You have no choice but to follow my advice. The Ratway is the safest place for you right now.” 

They walked casually on the bridge and went down the stairs. When no one was looking, they slid behind a worn out, termite-infested wooden door.

After half an hour of winding tunnels and fighting off skewers, they finally reached the guild's main headquarters.

The Ragged Flagon wasn’t exactly a posh place to hang out and make plans, yet it was the only one the guild could afford given their present circumstances.

“Believe me or not, I know it in my heart that we are cursed. Cursed!” Delvin Mallory had often remarked. He was the 'wise-old uncle' of the guild, always giving advice in a gentle manner with that grating deep voice of his. Insulted others in that manner too. And so it was difficult to know when he was praising someone or mocking them.

Thus, it was no surprise then that when Vince reached the place with his accomplice, all the members were seated at the tables, being served drinks by Vekel and being lectured by Delvin, listening to him with half closed eyes and fully closed ears.

_Oh, not his sermons, not again_. Vince sighed. He was too tired and had no more room in his mind. He rubbed his temples as he approached Brynholf, who was pretending to listen to Delvin. Brynholf didn’t have it in him to break the old man's heart.

“….and from that moment on, the guild has encountered nothing more than troubles. One after the other. It’s like an itch that keeps coming back. We do try our best, don’t we? But it's not our fault. No, no. Listen to me lads, carefully. Lady Nocturnal isn’t pleased with us. There's something going on in here that goes against the very principles of this guild. Don't forget she's our deity. We have to please her. And we hav-“

Delvin stopped and stared at Ingun with widened eyes, who stood there nervously behind Vince, fearing she had dropped in on a private meeting. Others too noticed the stranger.

“Who's this?” Brynholf inquired.

“This is Ingun Black-Briar,” replied Vince.

“Hemming's sister?”

“Yes.”

"Very well. And why is she here? You do know the rules, Vince."

"Can I talk to you in private? Please," Vince spoke in a low tone. 

Brynholf stood up. "Delvin, please continue," he said, to the misery of others. "Vince, follow me. You may bring our guest too."

The three of them entered the Ratway cistern and huddled around in the corner, leaving everyone else to wonder what they were going to discuss. 


End file.
